


Against the Wall

by HardingHightown



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Poor Life Choices, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/pseuds/HardingHightown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson is spared, and handed to the Commander. The Herald of Andraste is not quite as holy as she may at first seem. Currently a PWP one-shot, may grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I am the Herald of Andraste."

"Yes my lady. I believe I heard you the first time."

"You should not be touching me like this."

"So you say."

His hand was down the front of her trousers, where she'd guided him only moments before. Her own hand gripped his wrist. He'd stop if she wanted to, he knew that, she must know too. He wasn't some animal who couldn't control his desires, no matter what the others thought. However he did not feel her pull his hand away. Instead, he felt her nails digging in to the tender flesh on the underside of his arm. She did not move him closer, nor take his hand away from her.

"My Lady Herald, we don't have much time. Do you need me to take control?"

She looked at him with darkened eyes, her lip trembling slightly from adrenaline, he guessed. Her grip loosened slightly on his wrist, and he took that as a signal to continue. She'd never ask, he knew that. But he needed her consent. He'd play the villain if she wanted him to, but he'd never been one of those Templars.He shook the thought from his head as he slid his hand into her smalls, backing her against the stone wall behind her and running one finger from the front of her sweet cunt to the back, tracing her folds and unable to stop a smile at how wet she was.

"Oh, Holy Herald. What a gift you are."

She spat at him for that, and in retaliation he sharply thrust one finger into her as deep as it would go, marvelling at how she could choke back a cry. Of course. She was a circle mage. She'd be well practiced at keeping her sounds quiet... but the way she choked it back was marvellous, and got him thinking about other things she could choke on...  
She grew impatient as he stilled, bucking herself against his hand, so he slid that finger out again, running it back up to circle her clit with a much more gentle touch. Her breath shuddered, and he found himself wanting desperately to kiss that breath from her lips, to hold her... but that was not what this was. This would never be something so tender.

"Good little mage," he found himself saying, and her mouth parted and her eyes sank away behind heavy lids and he knew that this was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she was craving. He slid two fingers back into her, watching as a tiny hint of pain creased her face before a smile, so subtle, so wonderfully pure and real bloomed on her pink lips. She wanted the familiar thing. The templar taking a mage for his pleasure. It wasn't a rare fantasy, after all.

"Can you take more?"

The words poured from him with ease. He knew the text well. She nodded slighly, opening her eyes just wide enough to capture his gaze. There, hidden in there, there was that fire he'd seen on the battlefield. There was the mage who raised the dead to take down the living. That was the woman he'd serve. He thrust a third finger into her, loving the roll of those eyes and the dull thud of her fist on the stone as the heel of his palm ground against her with each thrust of his fingers.

Out of the corner of his eye, over in the courtyard, he saw the Commander with the new recruits, barking orders and sweeping across the space in that ridiculous cloak. He wondered if she did this with him. If she asked him to be a Templar again. He'd love to see Cullen's face at being asked...

The slightest hint of a gasp on the lips of his lady brought him back, and he renewed his attentions. The feeling of her wetness between his fingers was heavenly. He wanted nothing more than to take away his fingers, to thrust them in her mouth as he parted her legs and fucked her until she was screaming out his name over the courtyard... but that wasn't the game, not today.

"Touch your breasts, mage."

She did so in an instant, letting her delicate hands palm and tease. He ached to open her shirt, to sink his mouth to the level of a nipple and bite and pull and...

"Don't stop."

He tried to keep up the pace, feeling her starting to tense around him, marvelling at the little flush that started to spread across her skin on the delicate part of her cheeks. He wanted to remember every detail, the way she bucked against his hand, the way her breathing started to hitch, a strange soft whine coming from deep within her and then...

Then she came undone against him, the back of her head hitting the stone and his hand aching from the strength of the pulse of her orgasm, her hands gripping on to his coat as her legs gave way and Maker, the way she inhaled her orgasm, not crying out but sucking in all the air around them, as if his hands gave her life, as if she wanted to breathe him in and keep him there.

Eventually, she exhaled it away, and the moment began to fade. That cool look returned to her eye, and she went to pull away.

"My lady, didn't anybody tell you it's rude not to return a favour."

"I spared your life."

"I don't think it's of equal value." he replied, trying not to let that smile creep into the corner of his mouth. She tried to stare him down, but with a clearing of the throat re-stood her ground.

"Fine. Fine. Let's hurry this up."

"Give me your mouth."

His suggestion made that brilliant blush spread across her nose, and she broke eye contact, looking out over the battlements and saying simply." He'll know."

Ah, so that solved the question. Samson looked over again at the Lion of Skyhold, and wondered what he'd make of such an exchange.

"Fine," he spoke softly, returning to the moment and turning her head towards his. "Your hands then. But," he continued, trying not to betray the longing he felt, "Let down your hair for me."

The Herald kept her mane in check, all held up in a pretty bun with barely a stray hair. He lay awake at night, thinking of what she'd look like with it down, flowing over her bare breasts as she was on top of him, how it would stick to her as she rode him mercilessly...

With only the slighest hesitation, she reached up and tugged the ribbon free, and her thick honey tresses fell about her shoulders in such a way that Samson felt his heart physically ache. Softly he took her hand, the hand with the Anchor that marked her, and wrapped it around his cock, thrusting against it. "Like this," he managed to whisper, using one arm to brace himself against the wall, the other to pin her by the chest. "Hold still like this and let me fuck your hand."

"You disgust me."

"You are so beautiful."

He breathed in the scent of her hair, embarrassed at how close he was getting, only a few thrusts in to her fingers. The scent of her was divine, a sweetness that he couldn't place that reminded him of warm summer and a life before all of this, something from a memory long since forgotten. His hand that had been pinning her found its way onto her breast, squeezing softly as his thrusts into her hand became faster, more urgent. He ran his thumb over her nipple, listening carefully and hearing her gasp so so softly despite herself as he touched her as gently as he could manage. Maker, when had he last touched a woman like this?

His hand moved further up, gripping on to her pale neck as she started to move her hand against him. He couldn't stop the low groan into her ear, but she didn't seem to mind, the tiniest hint of a whine playing out of those fair lips. He turned her head towards him, kissing her with a fury as he came hard against the stone, his tongue finding hers for just a second before she pushed him away and ran.

He crumpled against the wall, watching her run across the battlements, her long hair flowing behind her as he struggled to catch his breath.

 


	2. Your Mouth

His shirt was sticking to him when he finally took himself back to the barracks. He'd volunteered for the heavy labour of repairing the last of the broken down walls in Skyhold's fortifications. Commander Cullen had liked that. A good thing, is what he'd called it. A way to repay the trust of the Inquisitor. Didn't mean he hadn't been looking over his shoulder with every fresh laid stone mind. His gaze had barely left him, save when the watch was taken over by the fake-Warden. He quite liked Blackwall, or whatever his name was now. Slightly older, wiser, rougher round the edges. Not so fast to judge. Not averse to sharing his skin of water when the work got hard. But that was where it ended. Now, as the other men went to the tavern, Samson found himself alone. He couldn't say he minded much. This strange position he'd found himself in the past few months was like an ill fitting armour. He was one of the men now, having been responsible for the slaughter of hundreds before. The boys in the barracks wouldn't do him harm, he didn't think, but he slept with a dagger under his pillow nonetheless. A dagger which he moved now, allowing him to lie back properly, staring up at the stone wall and breathing deeply.

He couldn't stop his thoughts from straying to her, damn her. Less than a day ago, since she last touched him, and it felt like a dream again. He couldn't even remember her touch, not really. The image that burned into his mind was her hair blowing behind her as she ran from him, up the battlements and away from his touch, taking that scent, that glorious scent with her...

Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it. He glanced around the small room- nobody in their bunks, only the slight sound of chatter outside in the mess. He was alone. Just as well; he didn't think he could have stopped himself from needing to fuck himself even if there were others. His hand found its way into his breeches as he wrapped his fingers roughly around his cock, pulling himself free and concentrating on trying to remember that feeling...

His hands could never be as delicate as hers, white and thin and all bone, but he could touch himself gently and it might suffice... he found himself pushing his hips up towards his hand, trying to recapture that feeling half forgotten already... but it wasn't enough. He pulled his hand away in anger, sitting up and rubbing his bloodshot eyes in frustration, when he caught a glimpse of someone in the doorway.

"We're you planning on watching, my Lady Trevelyan?"

He saw her pull away from the crack in the door, before a single white hand gripped the edge and pushed it open. She followed, dressed in a plain white shift that he assumed must be her sleep clothes. He could just make out the outline of her nipples under the sheer fabric, taught and rosey pink and Maker, he was getting harder...

"I was looking for the Commander."

"Then try his quarters, my Lady. If you don't mind, a man needs his privacy."

She didn't move a muscle, her eyes flitting to the sight of his cock still out of his breeches. Her gaze only made him harder, and he couldn't help but laugh slightly as her tounge fluttered over her lip. "My lady seems quite lost."

"You don't even try to hide it. You're a beast."

"Why would I want to hide it from you?"

He reached down, palming himself roughly. "You were watching before. I think you like to watch. Am I right?"

He gripped himself again, touching himself slower than he might have in his own company. He wanted to let her see it all, see his cock pulse for her as he pulled his hand from the base to the head, twisting slighly. Her eyes hadn't left it yet, even as she moved to the edge of the bunk, gripping on to the wooden post as she watched.

"Did you watch men like this in the tower, Herald?" he asked her, desperately trying to keep his voice level and his eyes fixed on her face, despite the overwhelming temptation to roam to her breasts, to between her legs, to see the thatch of hair and grab at it through her nightgown...

"Yes."

The answer pulsed through him, making his cock twitch in his hand as he struggled to keep his pace slow.

"Mages?"

"Templars. I'd sneak out of my rooms and watch them."

"Every night?"

"As often as I dared."

She came to sit on the edge of the bed, her thin frame barely making a dent. Her eyes finally came up to meet his and he could have wept at the lust in them, a look he hadn't seen in so long...

"Samson, you said yesterday..."

"Yes?"

Her eyes glanced back at his hand still moving, though slower, over the length of his shaft. He stopped, just for a moment.

"What did I say?"

"You asked me... you wanted... you asked me for my mouth."

His hand stilled completely, the words coming from her almost driving him over the edge. The look in her eyes, wanting, that need in her, with the blush on her cheeks and the teeth lightly grazing her lip...

"Do you still want my mouth, Samson?"

He didn't even answer.

In a second, he threw himself towards her, his teeth clashing with hers as he kissed her furiously, his tongue pushing past her teeth to claim her. For once, for the first time since this sorry business had begun, she let him kiss her fully, her tongue meeting his and a deep, feral noise coming from within her gut. She pulled away first, hands reaching down as she dragged his hips down the bed, loosening his trousers further and pulling them almost to his knees.

He watched as she stroked him twice, the other hand resting on his thigh so gently he could cry. Her eyes were fixed on his cock, making him twitch with anticipation, as she leant in to kiss the head of it so gently... he bucked into nothing, the faintest whimper escaping his lips, before she took the head in her mouth, swirling her tongue across it just like she had in her kiss.

His head fell back as he breathed into it. Maker, it took all he had not to thrust wildly into her. He looked down to see her looking back at him, hesitant. His hand fell to stroke her face, to encourage... but she took his hand and wrapped it in her hair, letting his fingers tangle in the waves.

He knew then what she wanted him to do.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair then, and with one move thrust himself as far into her mouth as he could, pulling back and hearing her gag and gasp from the size of him. Fuck, he didn't want it to but it felt so good... He managed to hold back for just a moment waiting for her to look at him again, for her lips to curve into a small smile that meant it was okay to do it... even though part of him, deep down, hoped she might not.

When she looked up at him, her eyes seemed dizzy and unfocused, her lips reddened and a long strand of spittle joining them still. He fought the urge to thrust again until he saw it, that smile on her lips, that fucking dare to keep going. He drove himself back into her mouth, deeper this time, his other hand finding its way into her hair as he heard her groan deeply. She was getting of on this. Of course she was. This was what she wanted him for, all the filth that she couldn't find elsewhere.

"Your mouth feels fucking fantastic. I bet you don't let him fuck your mouth like this, mage."

He thrust in a few more times, relishing the feeling of her throat at the head of his cock before pulling her back by her hair and kissing her swollen lips, tasting himself on them. "Well, mage?" he asked, his lips still nearly touching hers. "Do you let him?"

"No."

"Would you let him?"

"No. Only you."

He kissed her quickly one last time before pushing her head back down, marvelling at how she stretched her mouth out even before he thrust into her, at her moans as he thrust into her again, and again... fuck, he couldn't last long at this pace.

"When I spend, mage, it won't be in your mouth," he growled at her, already feeling it coming upon him, " I'm going to mark you. All over your pretty face. I think you'll like that."

She let out the sweetest moan, and he felt himself getting closer. He managed to pull her away, just managing to gasp out "With your hands."

She got his meaning entirely, one hand cupping his balls as the other stroked and he held her, just there, inches from his cock as he came hard against her, his seed splashing against her mouth and cheek. He held on to her, riding it out until his body couldn't hold any longer. He collapsed against the bed, feeling the absence of her hand as he caught his breath.

He looked at her on the end of his bed. She'd already started to wipe her face, more's the pity. He'd have loved another minute of seeing her marked by him like that... he sat up, shuffling to kneel beside her, cupping her breast and nuzzling into her hair to kiss-

She shrugged him off, moving towards the door. He knelt back, a sinking feeling in his stomach as her hand touched the handle.

"My lady, I'd be amiss not to return the favour."

She sniffed at that, turning the handle and calling out behind her, "I'm sure I'll be taken care of later tonight."

She left the door open as she left. The cold hit him, and he'd never felt quite so alone.


	3. Chant

Samson had stumbled across her name quite by accident whilst walking to the quarry to lift the heavy stone for the wall. A piece of tatty paper was stuck to the remnants of a wooden scaffold, signed and printed in her name. _Loveday Merriment Constance Trevelyan._ A fine Marcher name indeed.

He wasn't sure she'd have kept the colloquial Marcher pronunciation until one day he heard the man that once was Blackwall talking about her to one of the other men. "Lowdy is a fine girl, good to serve" he'd said between grunts as he lifted stone upon stone. "A good mage. A fierce fighter too. She can best great warriors."

He'd taken the moment to stare over at Samson then. He could have asked him, included him, mocked him for his defeat at the hands of a tiny noble girl, but he did not. He continued on, lifting stones, sharing water and stories with the men. He seemed a good man, plagued with the consequences of bad decisions. Samson decided then that he liked him.

The day was long. The sun blared down over the snow, the white reflecting up the light, and he could feel himself sweating, always sweating. The lyrium withdrawal was getting worse. He could feel that too. What was an ache in the joints and a rot in the gut was becoming a constant shiver-sickness and a light head. The blue helped, for certain. But the red still sang to him, still called to him over the mountain. He worked harder, trying to make the stone on stone block out the distant sound of the song.

He worked until his body failed him, and he fell away from the wall onto the cold snow beneath him.

It was good of Cullen to take him away from it, to take him back to the undercroft to Dagna. That's what he assumed must have happened, as he looked up at the twin faces of his tormentors, laid out on a cot like some damned invalid. Dagna, the sod, looked almost concerned. There was no such sweetness on the face of the Commander.

"You were supposed to tell me if I pushed you too hard," came the clipped tones of the boy who once served under him. "I don't want you dying on my watch."

"Better yours than any other man, eh Cullen?" he laughed back, stifling a cough that hit his lungs at the end of his breath. "There were a few times in Kirkwall I'm sure you wouldn't have minded."

Cullen nodded to Dagna, and she left them both there, shutting the door behind her. The cool air from the open cliff edge washed in the salt from the water and Samson felt sick to his stomach.

"I don't want you to die at all, if I can help it." Cullen's voice was so soft he might almost have believed it. "The Inquisitor spared you for a reason. I don't know why that might be, but I trust her. I trust her judgement. She must have seen something in you worth keeping."

Oh, how he wanted to speak. How he wanted to tell him exactly what she craved. How her eyes rolled back when his fingers stroked over her breasts. How she begged for him to touch her. How she moaned when he gripped on to her hair and how the anchor sparked when she ran her hand over his cock. But he sucked the words from his teeth and stayed silent, fixing a cool stare at the Commander. There was a twitch of a smile on Rutherford’s lips.

“We can all be redeemed,” Cullen muttered, turning his back on him. “The Chant tells us so.”

 

Later, he decided to try and find the redemption Cullen mentioned. Night had settled hours before, and he found himself slipping from the barracks to the chantry garden, past the night guard and through to Skyhold’s small prayer room.

As soon as he opened the door, he knew the Maker was smiling upon him.

She sat, hair flowing down her back in golden curls, at the very front of the altar. Her hands were reaching for the statue of Andraste and her voice was spilling a piece of the Chant. As he walked slowly into the room, he could make out the words more clearly…

“The one who repents, who has faith

Unshaken by the darkness of the world,

She shall know true peace.”

She stopped, and for a moment his breath stuck in his throat. This felt too… _intimate_. Too much of a violation. To be here, in this place, with bloody Andraste staring down at him and all the thoughts in his head being of sliding his tongue across her neck and pulling down her smalls… He shook that thought from his mind and sat himself as lightly as he could, trying to clear his mind of such things. He had come here to try and pray, though he couldn’t quite find where the words sat in his memory right now.

She started again, her voice hitting the words with a new intensity.

“The one who _repents_ , who has _faith_

Unshaken by the darkness of the world,

She shall know _true peace_.”

He could have sworn he saw her head jerk slightly towards him, but she didn’t turn, didn’t look towards him. He clasped his hands together, trying not to think of what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair, to pull her mouth to him all over again…

“I know you’re here, Samson.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She turned to him then, pulling herself to her feet and walking towards him. “This is my place. Not yours.”

He smirked at her. “I believe it is a chantry for the masses of Skyhold, My Lady Herald. It is for all that seek salvation.”

“There’s no salvation for you. You know that.”

To hear it spoken like that, to hear it slip from her lips with such a cool disregard when moments before her voice sang of repentance and mercy… it made him angry. It made him want to push her, hit her, claim her mouth and pull redemption from her body.

“Sit with me, herald.”

He saw her swallow hard, the steel in her eyes faltering, “We can’t. Not here.”

“I’m asking you to sit with me. Perhaps you could pray for me? You are the Maker’s instrument, after all. Perhaps you can ask for special favours.”

He could see that look forming in her eye, the look that made heat pour into his belly and his cock, and out of the corner of his eye he could have almost sworn the statue of Andraste fucking frowned at him.

She took one small step closer, and he caught her wrist and pulled her between his legs, settling her on the bench in front of him facing the alter. He knew she must be able to feel him, hard as a rock against her fine arse, but he didn’t touch her, not yet.

She’d have to fucking _ask_.

“You were saying your words, Herald. Reciting the chant.” He thrust himself slightly against her, letting one hand settle on her thigh. “You should continue.”

“I can’t say them.”

“You know them. I’m sure you do. You’re a good girl, you’ve said them a hundred times before and not had to mean a single fucking one. Well now you do. Now you’re sinning. Now you mean them.”

“Please touch me.”

“Not without the words.”

He thrust slightly against her one more time before he felt her hand grab his and thrust it down to her smalls, before her voice started again, lower this time as he ran his fingers across her folds.

 “Many are those who wander in sin,

Despairing that they are lost forever,

But the one who repents, who has faith

Unshaken by the darkness of the world,

And boasts not, nor gloats

Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight

In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know

The peace of the Maker's benediction.”

He found his pace almost immediately- small light flicks of her clit with his fingers, guided by her own hand with its shuddering tight grip on his wrist. With his free hand he reached behind her to his cock, freeing it from his smalls and rubbing himself over the top of her arse, thrusting against the fabric of her clothes.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Are you always this wet on your knees in the Chantry?”

“I’ve never been able to keep my mind from sin.”

“Good. I want all of your sin. I want you in front of Andraste, saying the Maker’s words as you come for me. Keep going. I’ll stop if you don’t keep fucking-“

“The Light... the light shall lead her safely

Through the paths of this world, and – ah, fuck, right there- into the next.”

His eyes had shut, and he found himself fucking listening to the words for the first time in years. Listening to the blasted Chant of light, the thing he’d heard a thousand times in Kirkwall, before Kirkwall, those words of forgiveness and of mercy and for the first fucking time in his life, for the first time, here with his hands on her he feels like he has been given a reprieve from his mistakes.

“Oh fuck, I’m close.”

Her voice pulls him back to the room, and he breathed in the scent of her again, his fingers moving impossibly faster as she moved herself against his fingers and against his cock. He wanted that moment again, that moment when she comes apart and pulls the world inside her, but not before…

“Keep going, Mage. You know the words. Keep going. Come saying them. Come for me with those words on your lips.”

“For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.

As the moth sees light and goes toward flame oh Maker I…”

“Keep going,” he growled, thrusting faster against her and raising his free hand to grasp at one small, perfect breast.

“She should see fire and go towards Light.

The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,

And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker oh Maker oh fuck I’m going to-

Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her-“

The last word stuck in her throat as she shuddered in her arms, riding out the aftershocks with thrusts back against his cock and Maker be praised it felt divine as he came hard against her back, his spend up her back as he gripped her body to him and called out her name.

Her _name._

He felt her tense in his arms again, though for much less enjoyable reasons.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“Inquisitor?”

“Who gave you the right to call me that?”

She struggled free from his grasp, pulling towards the door, but this time he caught her hand and kept her there. “Lowdy, listen-“

“No. You don’t get to call me that. You don’t have the right to-“

“It’s just a name, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s _mine_.”

She pulled her hand away from his grip with a force that caused her to gasp, cradling her arm close to her body as she sped towards the door.

“It’s not yours to know. You’ve ruined it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not in love with this chapter, but hey, I have some ideas where it might go. Feedback always welcome! Remember this fic is speedwritten (15-20 minute work usually) so any crit is welcome.


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